


Awake My Soul

by painted_pain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-31
Updated: 2012-03-31
Packaged: 2017-11-02 20:08:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/painted_pain/pseuds/painted_pain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam’s screams stopped, the silence ringing, cold and sharp. [6x11]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awake My Soul

Dean watched as Sam screamed and screamed, echoes banging of the iron walls of the panic room and clanging into his ears, too loud and in each decibel he could read a detailed description of the pain ripping Sam to shreds. He couldn’t step forward, fear and hope clashing violently and pinning his feet to the ground. His little brother was being pulled apart by Death’s hands and being rebuilt, light from Sam’s soul blinding Dean. He had to look away, couldn’t stand to watch any longer. Dean closed his eyes and the colour bled red, the pinkish red of his own skin, and he could feel the walls closing in, the need to run forward, to yell, to start punching and not stop until his hand was cracked and bleeding. Sam instilled the most destructive things inside Dean and Dean had always known this.   
  
Sam’s screams stopped, the silence ringing, cold and sharp, and Dean still couldn’t open his eyes, something welling up inside him and threatening to explode out, leaving him torn open and eviscerated. Broken.   
  
What if it hadn’t worked?   
  
Bobby made a soft sound, an inhalation, and there was the rustling of clothes, a soft whooshing noise, the sound of Death leaving and the almost indistinct delicate clink of chains – the handcuffs. And then;   
  
“Dean.” And the breathe Dean had started to take got caught up in a sharp-edged ball of pain and want and longing in his throat, choking him with it, and something raw, a tender wound barely closed over, opened deep in his chest.   
  
Dean hadn’t heard that voice in so long, so long, and he still couldn’t open his eyes, knowing that everything was too fragile, jagged pieces still not fitted together because that  _voice_ had disappeared and died over a year ago, swallowed by the earth and trapped in a cage of hellfire and bone and pain, where Dean couldn’t find it. That voice, that tone, the unique stressing of his own name that could only be done by Sam; Sammy.  _Sammy._   
  
“ _Dean._ ”    
  
He blinked his eyes open, and there, right there, was that look of exasperation and fondness that he had told himself he hadn’t missed. Sam’s eyes were open and Dean couldn’t see anything else, couldn’t look beyond the light buried in their depths, that softness that Dean had never noticed until it was gone, replaced with something too cold, flat and lifeless. He pulled his eyes away, staring at Sam’s rising and falling chest instead, this need for survival thrumming through, to find safe territory before he broke down, collapsing into himself.   
  
Dean stepped forward, heard Bobby take a step back, heard his retreating footsteps and had a brief moment to feel grateful but it was quickly drowned by Sam,  _Sammy_ , lying right there in front of him, hazel eyes watching Dean’s every move, mouth quirked into a smile, edges filled in with so much Dean couldn’t stand to see, pretended not to see because he couldn’t deal with that right now.   
  
He took another step forward, inched his way closer, raised his shaking hands to undo the cuffs at Sam’s wrists, trying not to think about anything at all, barely keeping his head above water. Dean stood by Sam’s side, the draft in the panic room making his skin prickle and his eyes flitted around, panicked, fists clenching and unclenching by his sides.   
  
The soft touch of a hand against his own made Dean start and then freeze as the hand gripped his own, a thumb rubbing across his palm, his breathe stuttering as Sam said, so soft, this tender thing washing over him, “Dean, Dean, look at me, Dean, please.” And Dean did, eyes locking with Sam’s and something squeezed his chest so tight he could barely breathe. Right there, with bags under his eyes, frown lines in his forehead and that light, that  _light_  in his eyes, was Dean’s baby brother.   
  
“Sammy,” Dean choked out and he felt the tears he had been holding back spill out, splashing down his cheeks and he heard these horrible gasping sounds, wretched and desperate, echoing around him, that took him a moment to realise were coming from him.    
  
“Oh God,  _Sam_ .”    
  
Sam’s grip tightened almost painfully on his hand and Dean brought the other, trembling with force of everything moving around in Dean’s chest, up to cup his cheek, thumbing away the tears that fell from Sam’s eyes.   
  
“Hi,” Sam whispered and Dean laughed unexpectedly, not unaware of the note of hysteria that crept in, of how unhinged he sounded right now, of how unhinged he  _felt._  He leant forward and gently placed his forehead against Sam’s but didn’t close his eyes; he couldn’t, he needed to make sure Sam wouldn’t just disappear.    
  
“Dean,” Sam said, voice barely there, wrecked and broken open, “Dean, I’m not going anywhere. God, Dean, it’s me.” Sam’s breathe ghosted across Dean’s lips, warm and moist and incomprehensible warmth flooded his belly, heat flushing up his neck and onto his cheeks. Sam’s other hand came to rest at the back of his neck, those long fingers pushing into his hair, cupping the base of his skull.    
  
“Dean.” And there was something so fond and tender and longing threaded through Sam’s voice that Dean could do nothing but sigh out Sam’s name and press a soft kiss onto Sam’s mouth, enough pressure to just about feel the outline of Sam’s teeth behind the giving flesh. Their lips moved slowly against each other, just gently sliding and fitting together, chaste and dry and incredibly gentle. Dean could feel Sam’s breathe gust lightly against his cheek and he smiled into the kiss, heart burst open and spreading a tingling sensation through him. Sam pulled back, only separating by an inch so when he spoke, Dean could still feel the words ghost across his lips.   
  
“What’s so funny, Dean?”   
  
Dean gave a small snort. “Here I am, bending over backwards for you and you have this bed all to yourself.” He glared at Sam, ruined by the sweep of his thumb over Sam’s lower lip. “Now budge over. Didn’t I teach you how to share?”   
  
Sam obliged with a huffing sound and a roll of his eyes but Dean could see that smile tucked away into the corner of his mouth. After several long moments of shuffling and pushing and gentle shoving, exasperated words filling the silences between grunts, they finally managed to fit on the bed, legs tucked together, arms wrapped around each other, chest to chest, so close they were sharing the same air. Dean brushed the hair out of Sam’s eyes and coughed, embarrassment colouring his cheeks a deep red. Sam sighed, a soft happy noise, eyes fluttering closed. Dean noticed how bruised Sam’s eyes look and he remembered how Sam hasn’t slept in over a year. He placed a gentle kiss on Sam’s forehead, his embarrassment be damned, and whispered into the small, intimate space between them, “Go to sleep, Sammy.”    
  
Dean pressed closer against Sam, burrowing into his heat and Sam grunted in agreement. Dean couldn’t help the wide grin that splits across his face, feeling like all his broken bits had been glued back together, like all his missing pieces had been returned to him.   
  
“I’ll be here when you wake up.”


End file.
